


Saving Warden Anders

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 00:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3468056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the expedition into the Deep Roads, Hawke falls ill. After convincing a group of Wardens to save his life, he's stationed at Vigil's Keep where he meets a very interesting, but very lonely mage Warden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zillah1199](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zillah1199/gifts).



> Zillah1199 emailed me and kindly requested a fic for her birthday in May. One of the prompts she suggested was thus:
> 
> _I'd love to see a fic where Hawke, not Carver or Bethany ends up getting tainted in the Deep Roads. Anders never merged with Justice and never left the Wardens. Hawke's group runs into Stroud by sheer luck and Hawke ends up a warden and gets posted to Vigil's Keep. UST and romance ensues._
> 
> Happy (super early) Birthday!

Four days on a ship, and another one on a horse so soon after drinking a cup of lyrium and darkspawn blood, and Hawke slept like a rock the second his head hit his pillow when they arrived at Vigil's Keep. Still in his traveling clothes, boots on the bed, he snored loud enough to wake the dead. Which was unfortunate because he later found out that his roomate _was_ dead. Or something like it.

"Poke him."

"Anders, leave him, he's exhausted."

"Too right he is. He woke Justice, and nothing ever wakes Justice. Except maybe Oghren's belching."

Hawke opened his eyes slowly, lifted a hand to wipe his eyes, and yawned widely.

"Like his beard, though."

"Anders, that's enough."

And then Hawke realized the conversation wasn't in his head. Two men stood over him. One had short black hair tied back into a tail, a bit of scruff on his chin. He was dressed already for the day, wearing the silver and blue uniform of the Grey Wardens. His breastplate was dinged up but polished, and he stood straight backed and proud. The other was still in pajamas and an open robe, fluffy slippers on his feet. His blond hair hung loose and shaggy around his face, and he tucked a lock of it behind his ear, a golden earring catching the sunlight. He leaned casually against the other man with an easy grin on his face.

"Welcome back to the world."

Hawke sat up and covered his mouth, yawning again, and tried to get his bearings. "What day is it?"

"Friday," the blond answered. "Nice nakedness. Chest hair. Rawr."

"Anders," the first admonished again. "You'll have to excuse him. Or don't," he said. "Not many do. Nathaniel Howe." He held out a hand.

"Garrett Hawke. Just 'Hawke' is fine, though."

Hawke shook his hand, his memories coming back to him after the long journey. He'd been in the Deep Roads, hunting treasure to make a better life for his family when that fucking bastard of a dwarf sealed them all in. Darkspawn. Lots of darkspawn, and they were lucky to stumble across a group of Grey Wardens. When that one Orlesian – what was his name? Strife? Cloud? – said that there was a way for him to survive, he gladly took it. Of course it was Bethany who convinced the Wardens, begging them to save him. And then Hawke was gone. On the boat, he was forced to drink as part of the Joining, along with two others. He had no idea what happened to them, though. They were gone when he woke up and shortly after that, he was in Amaranthine. He was met by someone called Varel, but the days were a blur.

"How are you feeling?" Nathaniel asked him.

Hawke scrubbed a hand through hair and scratched his beard. "Bloody exhausted. Starving."

"That's normal," Nathaniel told him. "Come. We'll give you the tour of the Vigil. Most of the others are out on assignment, so it's just the three of us and Justice."

"Oghren's back," Anders added. "You can tell because of the stench in the hall outside the wine cellar."

Hawke grabbed a fresh tunic from his bag. Though 'fresh' might not have been the best word for it. Everything he had on him in the Deep Roads was in that bag. He would need to write Bethany not only to tell her that he was alive, but to ask her to send along the rest of his things. Provided Carver hadn't taken them, or Gamlen sold them.

"Do you need clothes?" Nathaniel asked, looking at the shirt.

"I thought he was fine without them," Anders mused, eyes raking down his bare chest.

Nathaniel sighed. "Come to our room. I should have something that'll fit you."

"You sure, Nate?" Anders asked, moving aside so Hawke could stand. He followed the two of them out. "I mean, he's all muscles, and you're all… not."

Hawke wasn't sure what to make of either of them, though he appreciated Nathaniel's hospitality more than Anders' overt flirting. He'd been flirted with by men before, more so since he'd gone to Kirkwall than in Ferelden. But the idea of being with another man never really occurred to him. Hell, he barely had time to be with any _women_ , most of his youth spent moving from place to place, avoiding templars and other random authority with his family. He waited in the doorway as Nathaniel dug through a dresser and came up with a shirt and pants.

"Here. When Varel comes for lunch, make sure you let him know you'll need something that fits better. Go on and change. We'll wait outside."

Nathaniel took Anders by the arm, who protested loudly at having to give Hawke privacy. Hawke changed quickly, the pants tighter than he would've liked, especially in the thigh, and the shirt stretched across his chest. Thankfully they were both long enough not to look too ridiculous, and he rejoined the others in the hall, tossing his dirty trousers back into his own room.

"All right, I think I'm starting to see the appeal of clothing," Anders said appreciatively. "By the way," he said, holding out a hand, "I'm Anders."

Hawke shook it, albeit slightly reluctantly. "I've heard."

"So what's your story?" Anders asked, as they started the tour, Nathaniel pointing out helpful rooms to Hawke.

"Went into the Deep Roads, got the taint, got saved by Wardens, and now I'm here," Hawke said with a shrug.

"Why in the Maker's good name would you go into the Deep Roads if you weren't already a Warden?" Anders asked. "I'm a Warden and _I_ don't even like going down there."

"You don't like doing anything that involves work," Nathaniel shot back.

"That's unfair!" Anders protested. "I do work. Lots of it. Usually traipsing around the countryside with you and Rolan, righting wrongs and saving kittens. When he lets me."

"Who's Rolan?" Hawke asked.

"The kitchens are through there," Nathaniel pointed out. "Just down the stairs to the right, and the dining room is directly acro-"

"Wannabe Warden with a chip on his shoulder," Anders sniffed. "He was a templar before he 'found his life's purpose' joining the Wardens. Bunch of bloody rubbish if you ask me."

Nathaniel frowned. "Anders." He looked at Hawke. "Don't get him started on mages and templars. He'll never shut up."

"Oh!" Anders said, and the cheerful smile faded. "Because it's so wrong to want to be free? Like it's a horrible crime not to want to live my life without some arsehole staring over my shoulder every time I want to take a piss. He's done that," Anders said to Hawke. "And not because he was interested in polishing my knob, you know? Because he wanted to make sure I wasn't off doing _eeeevil_ magic somewhere in the woods."

Hawke, who was still in the stages of waking up, a gnawing in his stomach reminding him that he couldn't actually remember the last time he'd eaten, tried to process this. "You're a mage?"

"Please," Nathaniel said, gritting his teeth. "If you really want to hear about it, watch him play chess with Justice in the evenings. They never shut up about it. We all avoid the leisure room for a reason during that time, after all."

"Oh and it's got nothing to do with the fact that Justice is a walking, stinking, rotting corpse, does it then? It's all about me and my annoying want for basic human rights. Right, I get it."

Hawke wasn't sure he preferred this snappish anger to the casual flirting. But if there were templars here, he would need to keep his head down.

"Let's just get some breakfast," Nathaniel said diplomatically. "I'm sure Hawke is starving, aren't you?"

"Sure. Did you say corpse?"

Nathaniel led the way into the dining room, waving them to sit while he went downstairs to talk to the cooks.

"Justice is a spirit of the Fade," Anders explained, dropping heavily into a chair, patting the one next to him. "He got caught outside of it while we were in the Blackmarsh."

Hawke sat next to him, more guarded now than he was before. "And he took over a corpse?"

"Poor Warden named Kristoff. Never met him. Seemed like a nice guy with what everyone says. But Justice can't go back and the body's falling apart so no one knows what'll happen."

"That's-"

"Disgusting?"

Hawke shook his head. "Weird. I've seen some strange stuff-"

"Oh? Is that why you went to the Deep Roads?" Anders grinned, the charm coming back full force. "Because you couldn't get enough 'strange stuff'?"

"No," Hawke pressed, trying to get a word in. "I went down as part of an expedition to salvage some old treasure. We found a fair bit, too."

"Shame you won't get a chance to use it, I guess." At least Anders did sound a bit forlorn at the lost treasure.

"Maybe not. My family could use it more than I could now anyway."

Nathaniel came back up, interrupting whatever Anders was going to ask next. "I talked to Cook. She said she'd have a couple of plates up in a few minutes. Anders, are you coming on patrol?"

"In my slippers? That'll be the day. You go on. Give those foxes and squirrels what for!"

Another eye roll from Nathaniel. Hawke was fairly sure he must have done it a dozen times a day being around Anders. "Very well, but you're on evening patrol then."

"I'll bring Hawke. Show him the ropes. Figuratively," Anders added. "Unless you're into that stuff. In which case, I'm game."

Nathaniel gave Hawke an apologetic look. "I've got to go. Eight o'clock, Anders. If you're late, I'll have Varel put you on chantry clean up duty. I mean it."

"Fine by me. Lots of attractive young sisters in Amaranthine's chantry that like a handsome Grey Warden."

A scowl this time instead of an eye roll. "Hawke, good luck," Nathaniel said, and left them to it.


	2. Chapter 2

Properly dressed and fed, tour taken, letters to his family and friends back in Kirkwall written and sent, Hawke felt he was ready for almost anything. He would be fitted for a Grey Warden's uniform tomorrow, but until then he would have to live with Nathaniel's borrowed tunic and trousers. At least his boots survived the trip, and while old, they were still soft and comfortable. He met Anders in the courtyard that evening, Nathaniel wishing him luck on patrol.

"So," Hawke said as they started out of the gates, "what's patrol like, and do I need a weapon?"

Anders shrugged, gesturing to the staff on his back. "I've got us covered. Worst that I've seen since the end of the Blight were a couple of bandits trying to rob a caravan. Handled them well enough. You can grab a sword or whatever you like if you want to before we go." He waved in the general direction of the smithy, the forge quiet and cold now. "You can fight, can't you?"

"Sure." Hawke did not return to take a sword, though. He hesitated, waiting until they were beyond the walls of the Vigil before speaking again. "Don't need a sword. Don't even need a staff, really." He hoped Anders grasped his meaning. While he was sure that Varel knew he was a mage, he was also fairly sure none of the others did.

Anders looked at him in the waning light of the day. His expression was wary, but interested. "You're…"

Hawke sighed. He knew it would come out sooner or later, and the way Anders spoke about mages, he could be fairly certain that he wasn't the self-loathing type that wished for Tranquility. He held out his hand, letting his palm fill with a deep blue flame. In the glow of the magical fire, Hawke saw Anders' eyes widen, his lips parting in surprise. Shock? Awe? He extinguished it.

"But you… I never saw you at Kinloch. I mean, you _are_ Fereldan, right? You have a southern accent. You're a mage? Why didn't you tell – no, wait, I know why you didn't tell Nathaniel. Same reason you don't walk around telling anyone else." He scowled, but it was gone in a flash, replaced by look of interest. "You know it's going to come out eventually? Like it's some horrid little secret or something. As if that's all we are to those people."

"I was never in a Circle," Hawke admitted. "Varel knows, I think."

"Everyone'll know once you get your uniform," Anders said, plucking at his own. "Bit nicer than the ones they stick on you in the Circle, but still something that screams, 'I'm a mage!' So… seriously, you were never in a Circle? Born apostate? What's that like?"

It was the first conversation he had with Anders all day that didn't involve heavy flirting. Hawke was grateful for that. It was also unusual to be around another mage who was so enthusiastic about magic. His father taught them to keep their powers subdued, like it was a dirty secret. Bethany, while sweet, often spoke with him about her misgivings, that they were forcing Carver and their mother to be on the run all the time. But Malcolm spoke about the Circle to him, and none of his memories were too fond. They kept the stories from Bethany, possibly in a misguided attempt to shield her from the atrocities. In Kirkwall, aside from Bethany, the only other mage he knew was Merrill and she hardly counted, being Dalish. Plus, despite his views on mage freedom, he still did not agree with blood magic.

It certainly didn't help that Aveline was wary of him, and he always felt like he needed to hide himself from her. And Fenris frankly wouldn't have even given him the time of day had he not helped clear the old rotting mansion in hopes of finding his former master there. He wondered idly what Fenris would have to say about Anders and his outspokenness. Their fights would have been vicious, he thought, and hoped they never crossed paths. Aside from Varric, who saw him as a business partner and nothing more, Isabela didn't seem to mind his being a mage. She was happy to let him use magic on her the one time they spent together in her room at the Hanged Man. But none of them ever seemed to just want to talk about it.

"Rough. A bit," Hawke shrugged. "Probably easier than being in a Circle, the way my father talked about it. We had to move around a lot. Bethany always visited the chantry. Said she was checking up on templars and their rotations, but I think she was just… sad. My sister," he added. "She's a mage, too."

Anders looked thoughtful. "And she's in Kirkwall? Lot of templars there. I had a friend – ah, doesn't matter now, I guess. Haven't heard from him in a long time. Probably don't allow pens or something in Kirkwall's Circle."

"You're probably right," Hawke said, thinking of the Gallows and the templar presence there. "My mother's from Kirkwall. Nobility before she ran off with my father."

"Your mother eloped with a mage?" Anders sounded impressed.

"They loved each other."

"That's…" Anders sighed, but smiled. "That's horribly romantic. You should write that down."

Hawke laughed. "No. I'm not a writer. I can burn things to a crisp or toss a man fifty feet. Not much for the whole, uh…"

"Intellectual side?" Anders asked. "That's okay, we'll make a fine pair then. I love to write. Gets all the thoughts out of the head to pursue other interests."

"Is everything a joke or innuendo to you?" Hawke wondered.

They walked further away from the Vigil, Anders seemingly knowing the path by heart, and he didn't bother lighting his staff even as it grew darker. Hawke could see the fires of the keep in the distance behind them, and the woods ahead.

"Not everything," Anders said defensively. "Anyway, you'll learn to ignore it. Or give into my charms. Nathaniel did a few times, after all," he said, grinning at Hawke. "He'll deny it though, so don't bring it up."

"No, I won't," Hawke agreed. "So the rest of the Wardens?"

Anders shrugged. "Not much to tell. We had another mage. Dalish. Crazy as they come, but she left, so I'm the only one left. Except for you now, I guess. There's Oghren who spends every waking minute drinking and being crude. Justice who you already know about. A couple others," he waved his hand dismissively, "and… Rolan."

"So what you're saying is that you're the only one worth knowing?"

"I like you!" Anders laughed. "You know how to put things succinctly. Anyway, no one around here really appreciates magic unless it benefits them. Broken bone or a lacerated artery and it's all, 'Oh Anders, heal me!' but the second I want to discuss a theory, it's all, 'Magic is meant to serve man' blah, blah, blah."

"Sounds lonely."

"Well, there _is_ Justice. He's good for conversation, but he doesn't understand the human condition, not really. He gets confused sometimes. Rolan doesn't like him much either, but there's nothing he can really do about _him_. It's not like they're going to lock up a corpse. Though, knowing the templars, I wouldn't put it past them trying at some point."

Hawke frowned, but not because he thought Anders was wrong. It was just so… restricting. He would have thought an organization like the Grey Wardens – who needed everyone they could get now after what happened at Ostagar – would have been more welcoming. Even to mages. But the way Anders spoke, it was the same here as it was everywhere. It was frustrating. Sad. And now it was his life.

"Well, it doesn't matter," Hawke said. "I'm not going to hide the fact that I'm a mage. It's nothing to be ashamed about."

Anders looked at him, lips quirking into a half-smile. "Damn right. Besides, the Warden-Commander is a mage. He's at Weisshaupt right now. Never probably would've agreed to Rolan joining up, I bet. He'll be back in a few weeks. Hero of Ferelden and all."

"Really?" Hawke's eyebrows shot up in surprise. " _The_ Hero of Ferelden?" He'd heard about him when the news broke in Kirkwall about the Blight ending. Not much though, just that a mage and a Grey Warden stopped the Blight and that Ferelden had a new king. By the time he heard what happened, he thought he'd never see his country again.

"You would think that a guy with that title would have an ego the size of the country he saved. But no," Anders said graciously, "he's pretty humble. Taught me a thing or two about battle magic. Shame he's shit when it comes to healing otherwise I'd have returned the favor."

"I can't do much of it either," Hawke admitted. "My father was good at it. And Merrill's not…"

"Merrill? Girlfriend?" Anders teased, nudging him a little.

"No, not at all," Hawke said. "Dalish mage."

"…Huh. They do seem to get around, I guess." Anders lit the tip of his staff, throwing the surrounding area in a blue-white glow. "Other than the whole Deep Roads thing, what was it like in Kirkwall?"

Hawke shrugged. "Not good. Not bad. I missed Ferelden." He did, more than he cared to admit. "It's good to be back, even if…"

"Even if you're a prisoner? Warden mages get a bit more freedom. Even if the Chantry sends templars after you, they can't drag you back to the Circle. Don't worry," he added, "if Rolan tries, I'm an expert at running away. I'll take you with me."

"Promises, promises," Hawke joked, feeling more at ease now with Anders, despite the flirtations. Maybe it was the fact that he was a mage, that they understood one another, but he was feeling closer to him.

Hoof beats sounded behind them and they turned, Anders holding his staff up higher so he could see.

"Shit."

"What?" Hawke asked, squinting through the dark.

"Rolan," he said through gritted teeth. "What ho, fellow Warden!" he greeted, raising a hand.

Rolan pulled the horse up short, turning so he could look down at them both. His black hair was cropped close, cut military-style, and while Hawke never knew many templars, he felt the power radiating off this one. "Varel wants you back, Anders. You know you shouldn't patrol alone."

Anders gestured at Hawke in a sarcastic sort of, 'I'm not alone' way. "Sure he's a new recruit, but I think he can keep me safe from the big, bad wildlife out here. It's a two hour patrol, Rolan."

"I'll finish it. Go back to the keep."

"Yes, mother," Anders scowled, before looking at Hawke. "Come on."

Hawke followed him, glancing back at Rolan, who watched them suspiciously before pulling his horse away and down the path opposite.

"You'll get used to it," Anders sighed tiredly.

But Hawke wasn't sure he would.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next few days, Hawke fell into an easy routine. Wake early for breakfast, eat as much as he could manage, field a few mundane assignments, return for dinner, and maybe a patrol in the evening. He spoke often with Anders, less so now with Nathaniel. While their relationship remained cordial, Anders was right – not many people seemed to want to associate with him since he was a mage. The Warden robes were well-fitting, but he never had this feeling before, like he was wearing a giant target. It wasn't too difficult to evade templars before: don't use magic in public, use a nondescript staff so you could argue it was a walking stick or something mundane, and avoid getting into fights. The last was a bit harder than the other two, as Hawke's quick temper often got him into trouble. Luckily, he knew how to hit someone as well as cast a fireball at them.

Two weeks following his arrival at Vigil's Keep found him as it so often did with Anders. They started in the library, but the stifling heat was oppressive, the high windows not nearly large enough to let in enough of the cool, late afternoon air. When Anders suggested a quiet spot near the gardening shed to continue their conversation, Hawke went with. Anders still flirted with him, and Hawke found himself slowly responding in turn. Maybe not flirting back – he was never any good at it – but laughing and smiling instead of feeling ill-at-ease. A part of him enjoyed the attention. He knew he was good-looking, but never having really stayed in one place too long, it was unusual for him to form a friendship with anyone who wasn't family. The year spent in Kirkwall taught him how to open up, and Anders' easy and outgoing nature helped.

"So the fourth time I escaped," Anders was saying, "it was a little awkward. I was climbing out the window, bed sheets tied together-"

"Wait, that actually works?" Hawke asked. "Like in the novels?"

Anders laughed. "If you can believe it. But no, I slipped. Three stories down."

"And you survived," Hawke said, disbelieving the story now.

"Well, magic," Anders explained, shrugging his shoulders.

They were sitting on a low stone wall, cross-legged, facing one another. Hawke reached out to shove him a little, laughing.

"No, I'm serious!" Anders protested. "That and I landed on this templar. Dented his armor and everything."

"But you were all right?" Hawke asked, concerned for him, despite it being years past.

"Couple of broken bones. One of the senior enchanters healed me right up and Karl gave me such a tongue-lashing. Not the good kind, mind you," Anders added sadly.

Hawke heard him mention Karl's name many times before, and learned he was Anders' former lover who was sent to Kirkwall's Circle. He wondered if Bethany and the others would look into it for him if he asked about him. He would put that in the next letter. "What's it like, though? Being surrounded by so many other mages?"

"Aside from the templars and the fact that you can't leave?" Anders shrugged. "Not bad. Complete lack of privacy is unnerving. Better here than there. At least here there are locks on the doors and if you're taking a bath you can do it without someone coming in to look at you. Mostly," he amended.

"Mostly?" Hawke scowled. "You mean Rolan-"

Anders looked down. "Nah. Well, once. But I only used magic to heat the bath before I got in it. I wasn't naked yet."

The anger that slowly built in Hawke over the last two weeks as Anders opened up, speaking more about Rolan, was threatening to bubble over. "You can't talk to Varel about that?"

"And say what?" Anders removed the tie from his hair, running his fingers back through it, shaking it out. "Varel's got his own things to worry about. And he's not in charge of us. Not really. De facto leader, I suppose, until the commander gets back. But Nathaniel's more or less been leading us in the meantime. Orders come every now and then from higher ups. All shadowy and mysterious," he said, smiling.

Hawke watched his eyes as he spoke. They were tired, a little sad. Anders couldn't have been more than a few years older than him, but the way he carried himself, he'd seen too much, been through too many things. It evoked a sort of protective nature in him. This feeling wasn't unfamiliar, though to direct it toward someone who wasn't family made it awkward. He had the strongest desire to take Anders into his arms and hold him and not let go. Somehow he wasn't sure how well it would be received.

"If you could go anywhere, where would you go?" Hawke said, changing the subject.

"Oh, are we starting these kinds of questions?" Anders asked, leaning forward interestedly. "Are you going to ask my favorite sex position next?"

Hawke scowled, shoving him back, but without any real conviction. "I meant if you weren't a Warden."

Anders leaned back, palms on the wall behind him, face turned up toward the setting sun while he thought. "Hm. I don't know. Maybe Tevinter. You ever think about that? Where you can be a mage and walk around free without anyone judging you?"

Hawke snorted. "I met an ex-slave from Tevinter. He didn't look too kindly on mages."

"I guess from that point of view it wouldn't be so pleasant," Anders sighed. He laid back and stretched his legs out, coming to rest on either side of Hawke, and tucked his arms behind his head. "If not Tevinter, maybe Antiva. Or Rivain. I don't know. I haven't had a place to call home since I was twelve. What about you?"

"I was going to make Kirkwall my home before all this," Hawke said, setting his hands on Anders' shins. Unconsciously, he started to gently squeeze, a facsimile of a massage. He thought idly about what it would be like to _do_ something with Anders. They'd only known each other two weeks, but there was an undeniable attraction. Probably because Anders was just so open with him, and he'd rarely met anyone who was like that. The fact that they could discuss their magic, their fears, and their anger about the way mages were treated made it easier.

"Maybe we could go together one day. You could introduce me to your family. Is your sister cute?"

Hawke growled. "Hands off my sister."

"Brother, then?"

Hawke sighed. "No. Carver would hate you."

"Oh thanks!"

Hawke laughed. "No, not because… because Carver hates everything about me. Including my friends."

"Well you know I wouldn't have to ask about your siblings if _you_ just finally give in to my prodding."

Hawke smirked, squeezing Anders' knee. "Keep trying."

Anders leaned up on his elbows, looking at him through heavily-lidded bedroom eyes. "Oh?" he purred, and sat up further. "Here I thought you were on the straight and narrow. No deviant behavior for Garrett Hawke."

"When did I ever give you that impression?" Hawke asked, aware now at how close Anders was getting, legs still on either side of him.

"When you ignored all my flirtations."

"Like the first day we met?" Hawke licked his suddenly dry lips. Anders was very close now.

"Why not confess an initial attraction? Saves times in the long run. You know, I would be fine with just friendship, Hawke, even if you didn't want to take it a step further. It gets lonely not having someone to talk to about all this. I… like having a friend."

And there it was. A crack in the carefully constructed armor that Anders built up. A wall of self-deprecation or over-confidence, and he saw the vulnerability, the loneliness through it. "We'll… see how it goes," Hawke breathed, eyes flicking to Anders' lips, which were very close now.

"Perhaps we will…"

And before Hawke could say anything else, maybe challenge him or change the subject, or even close the gap between them, he was hit with a wave of nausea. Anders reacted similarly, pulling his legs in close, breathing heavily, looking as if he was going to vomit. Hawke panicked slightly, a weakness enveloping his muscles, and the familiar thrum of magic that always buzzed in his skin was quite suddenly gone. Clutching his stomach, he looked up, Anders already getting staggeringly to his feet.

"Rolan, you fucking asshole!"

This wasn't a calm, playful Anders, or even a quietly angry one. He was livid, eyes fixed on the templar Warden who stood just a few feet away, hand on the pommel of his sword.

"What the _fuck_ was that for?" Anders seethed.

"Easy, mage," Rolan said. "Thought I saw you using unauthorized magic."

"You bastard! You silenced us because you _thought_ you saw us using magic! And even if we were, it wasn't as if we were summoning demons, you fucking prick!"

Hawke had heard enough. Stomach hurting, magic gone, and no way to defend himself, he got to his feet. He'd never felt a templar's silencing technique before, but the unpleasant, sharp pain he felt was like hot needles in his skin. His magic was _gone_ and it was as uncomfortable to him as having the wind knocked out of him. He imagined it was what missing a limb felt like. And Anders standing there in a rage, looking at Rolan who wore a smug, nasty smirk, Hawke couldn't stop himself. Distracted by Anders, Rolan didn't see the punch that Hawke threw until his fist connected with his face. Rolan, despite his templar training, went down hard, plate mail clanking as it hit the ground. Hawke's knuckles were split and bloody, but Rolan's nose was likely broke,n and he considered it a fine payment to see the bastard writhing on the ground.

Anders laughed. "Oh. Well. Look at that. I would heal your stupid face but it seems I'm out of mana." He slid a hand around Hawke's bicep, gripping tightly. "Come on. You'll pay for that later. Best we tell Varel now what happened."

"Come back!" Rolan tried, groaning through the pain.

But Anders was already pulling Hawke away. Hawke was glad for that – he thought he could have easily killed Rolan for what he did. He wondered idly if anyone in the keep would actually care, and his next immediate thought was that he couldn't stay here, not if something like this was considered normal.

He would find a way to get out. And when he did, he would take Anders with him.


	4. Chapter 4

Peeling potatoes was about as mundane as a punishment as anything Hawke ever had to endure. And there were probably thousands of them. Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but there were a Maker damned lot of potatoes. The paring knife was sharp and he made quick work, at least until his back started aching, arms sore from the constant movement. He'd been going at it an hour when the door to the kitchens opened and Anders stepped in, looking slightly sheepish, carrying a bottle of wine and a tray of dried meat and cheese.

"I know you missed dinner. You hungry?" he asked tentatively.

"I could use a break," Hawke sighed, tossing a potato aside and set the knife down. He slid down the bench a little so Anders could sit next to him.

"Here. This is one of the better bottles," Anders said, settling the plate on Hawke's knees before wrenching the cork from the wine. "Or so I'm told. Never really had the opportunity to learn a lot about wine." He sniffed and took a swing before handing it to Hawke.

Hawke was more interested in the food than the wine, but accepted it nonetheless. "Mm. Yeah, s'good," he managed, stuffing a hunk of cheese in his mouth.

Anders laughed. "Manners."

"M'hungry!" Hawke protested. He wasn't sure he would ever get used the constant hunger that seemed to come with being a Grey Warden. Though the hunger was preferable to the dreams he had, the nightmarish visions of a great, twisted dragon. Nathaniel helpfully informed him that it was the call of an Old God, the next Archdemon, wherever it might be.

They ate in silence for a bit, passing the wine bottle back and forth, and Hawke had a pleasant warm buzz in his brain. That, combined with the resurgence of his mana in the last hour or two, made for a nice sensation. Anders' thigh was pressed against his own, and an altogether different – yet still warm and pleasant – sensation settled in his stomach.

"Think Rolan's going to get punished?" Hawke asked quietly, taking another sip of wine before handing the bottle back to Anders.

Anders' fingers slid over his own, holding both his hand and the bottle. "No. That's just how it is here, Hawke. How it is everywhere," he added bitterly. "You're born a mage, you're born wrong."

"It's not right," Hawke muttered, leaning against him slightly.

Anders took the bottle and finished the last few sips. "No, it's not."

Hawke held out his hand, palm up. A blue-white ball of magical energy coalesced there. "It's harmless, you know? Just light. And air."

Anders covered Hawke's hand with his own, fingers playing through the magic. Hawke shivered. He and Bethany would practice occasionally with their father's help, but it never felt as intimate as this. Anders' magic joined his, entwining carefully. Hawke felt the hairs on his arm stand up, the static electricity in the room causing him to shiver.

"You think that's good," Anders muttered, close to his ear, "you should see what I can do with it in bed."

Hawke let out a shuddering breath. Maybe… maybe it was okay to give in to Anders and his self-proclaimed charms. To indulge in a night or two, just to work off the steam he built up. Maybe remove the feeling of isolation and loneliness, being so far away from his family and friends. And in return he could offer Anders some comfort as well. Could he really separate the idle feelings in the back of his mind from carnal desire, though? With Isabela it was almost easy. She kicked him out the following morning with a laugh and a, 'No hard feelings!' sort of dismissal. Not that he'd harbored any feelings toward her, but he thought maybe he could have, given the chance. Would it be like that with Anders? Or would getting involved be a bad idea?

"Maker, you think too much," Anders whispered. "I can feel it in your magic. Hey."

Hawke turned his head to look at him, knowing that once he did, his fate would be sealed. He could feel Anders' breath on his lips. And as he leaned forward to close the gap, the door to the kitchen opened again, and the magic winked out.

"Hawke, punishment's up," Nathaniel said.

Hawke looked up at Nathaniel, eyes wide, and he realized that it was too obvious what he'd been about to do. And if the look on Nathaniel's face hadn't told him that he knew it too, Anders' reaction sealed the deal.

"Damn it, Nate," Anders sighed, turning. "I was just about to convince Hawke to kiss me and you had to go and ruin a perfectly romantic, sexy moment."

Nathaniel's expression quickly went from surprised to annoyed, then carefully neutral. "…Punishment's up," he repeated, and left the room.

Anders looked back at Hawke. "Moment's passed?" he asked, sounding a bit put out.

Hawke set the empty tray aside, turned toward Anders, and ran his fingers through the soft blond locks. Hand firmly at the back of his head, he pulled Anders close and kissed him. Anders made a pleased sort of noise, hands pressed against Hawke's chest, then gripped his shirt, holding tight. Hawke wasn't sure who coaxed the other's lips open, but he stopped thinking as his tongue met Anders', and soon _he_ was the one making noises. It had been far, far too long since he'd kissed anyone like this. He could barely remember the kisses he shared with Isabela before falling into her bed. They were impersonal, the coupling quick though satisfactory. But it couldn't compare to this. Anders felt… _good_.

His other hand rested on the small of Anders' back, and he wanted more. He wanted to push him to the bench, or roll with him to the dirty kitchen floor and kiss him until neither of them could breathe. He wanted to touch him everywhere, feel his bare skin beneath his fingertips. He wanted to feel his magic again, entwined with Anders', and see what it was like to use that for their coupling. Would it be different than his when he used it before for sex? And when Anders pulled back, he couldn't stop the quiet, needy sound against his lips. Hand sliding down, he gently massaged the back of Anders' neck, nuzzling him softly. Their lips met again for another, albeit briefer, kiss.

"Maker," Anders breathed, laughing softly. "Never thought I'd meet someone who could kiss as good as me."

Hawke preened internally at the compliment. He never thought much about his prowess for this sort of thing, so it was nice to hear. "Yeah, it was pretty damn good, wasn't it?"

"So…" Anders said, hooking a finger in the neckline of Hawke's tunic. "Punishment is over. Should I come back to your room?"

"I… ah…" Kissing was one thing. And fantasies of doing more were another. But actually doing them? Hawke wasn't sure. So he kissed him again.

"Hawke, I was told – Maker's breath, Anders!"

"Doesn't anyone knock?!" Anders asked, looking over at Varel who'd interrupted them.

"These are the kitchens!" Varel protested.

"So?" Anders said, gesturing. "There's still a door!"

Varel scowled. "Hawke, you have early patrol. Anders… For Andraste's sake, go to bed."

Anders rolled his eyes as Varel left, and stood, smoothing his robes. "Well. To be continued, I hope," he said with a wink.

Hawke watched him leave, part of him upset that it was over, another quieter part relieved that he didn't have to make a decision about it right now. Trying not to examine his own feelings too closely – after all, what if Anders only wanted a quick shag like Isabela? – he cleaned up, and retired for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

Patrols kept them apart. Hawke wondered if that was on purpose or not, and what the Grey Warden's rules were exactly about fraternization. He was often paired with Oghren now, who he found he didn't mind so much. Vastly different from Varric, but not a bad change, Hawke enjoyed his crude jokes even if they got a little overbearing. Chanter's and Merchants' Guild Board requests from Amaranthine continued to keep them busy, and on occasion, they ended up having to stay at the Crown and Lion. Luckily for Hawke though, Oghren rarely slept and preferred to spend the night drinking in the tavern's main room.

"Least the beds are soft," Hawke muttered.

And they were. He lay on the soft feather mattress, truly a rare treat for a Grey Warden, whose lives seemed to comprise nothing of hardship, which included uncomfortable thin pallets that had no business being called mattresses. Then again, he'd slept in Gamlen's pitiful excuse for a hovel for a year, and despite his sleeping arrangements at the Vigil, they were preferable to listening to his uncle's snoring. He wondered if Bethany and Carver were able to buy back their mother's family mansion in Hightown. He'd only ever seen the cellars, and they were vast, stretching down to the sewers in Darktown. The rest of the house must've been gorgeous. He wished he'd get to see it someday.

But his thoughts strayed from his family toward his more immediate companions. Or rather, on one companion in particular. Though they hadn't seen much of one another in the last week or two, Anders would always greet him with a wink and a grin. Hawke longed to find the time to talk to him again, to kiss him again, to see where the casual flirtations would lead. Even it was just sex, he thought maybe he could handle that. So long as he could continue to call Anders a friend after. He certainly was the best one he had in a long time. And the more he thought about the kisses they shared, the harder he found it was to go to sleep.

That, of course, wasn't the only thing getting harder. Like a teenager, hormones taking over his common sense, the hand that rested on his bare chest slid lower. He felt the thick hair beneath his fingertips – Anders had been appreciative of that. The trail that led from his navel beneath the soft sheets. He wondered if Anders thought about him like this. Would he wank with Nathaniel in the room? Hawke felt the heat rise in his cheeks, giving way to a full body flush. The cool night air played over his heated skin, and he untied the knot to his thin cotton sleep pants.

He imagined Anders lying in bed, in the small shared quarters, rubbing himself quietly through the thin fabric, as Hawke was doing now, teasing himself, bringing himself to full hardness. But Anders wouldn't wait long, he thought. He would get right to the good part. Would he go in for foreplay before sex? A vision of Anders lowering his head filled his mind's eye, mouth engulfing his prick. What would it feel like? Damn good, he thought. Anders seemed to know what he was doing. Maybe better than Isabela. But Anders wouldn't laugh at him if he screwed up somewhere. Would he tell Anders that he was his first man? Maybe. Or maybe Anders knew.

It wasn't enough, slowly stroking his erection through the cloth. He needed to feel more. Lifting his hips, he pulled his pants down over them. A quick glance at the door and he listened hard. No sounds of boots in the hallway, and he felt a delicious, wicked thrill at the idea of masturbating in a semi-public place. Deciding he would do it properly, he slid his pants down further and kicked them off, naked now in the soft bed. A vial of elfroot potion on the nightstand between the twin beds – left there for Oghren's inevitable hangover – was the lubrication he'd need to make this a _very_ pleasant evening.

Of course he could've used the grease spell that he learned searching through his father's books, but it didn't smell very good, and had the unfortunate side effect of leaving stains on the sheets. Good for a quick and dirty fuck, he supposed, but not for tonight. The thick, reddish liquid coated his palm and he gave an experimental stroke up his shaft, groaning quietly. It was cool at first, then warmed with his touch. He sighed, looking up at the ceiling, free arm tucked behind his head, and pulled back his foreskin, thumb swiping over the sensitive tip of his cock. Was Anders cut? He knew about the practice, but the only other prick he'd ever seen – and completely by accident – was Carver's. They were kids together, after all.

Quickly he pushed the thought from his head and replaced it with Anders. Soft, blond hair and honey-hued eyes. He thought Anders might have a bit of chest hair, but not much. He was so fair, pale skin and freckled. The hair surrounding his cock would be darker though, he thought. And he'd never before giving so much thought to what a potential lover would look like naked. However, his cock was quite interested in the idea of undressing Anders to discover their differences. He lifted his hips up off the bed and sighed, fisting himself slowly, legs spreading.

Would Anders want to fuck? Good and properly, or would he want to stick to mouths and hands? Hawke thought he wouldn't care one way or another, the idea of Anders' naked, sweat-slicked flesh against his own more than enough for him. But what would it feel like? Would Anders ride him like Isabela had done? Or would he prefer it on the bottom? Would he want to take Hawke instead? Hawke wondered what it would feel like. Maybe for the next time. The first time he really just wanted to bury himself in Anders, fuck him hard. Or maybe slow, his hips mirroring his fantasy as his eyes shut again, thinking about what Anders would sound like, getting fucked slowly and deeply into his mattress at Vigil's Keep. He'd clutch the pillow, claw at the sheets and beg him.

_"Hawke, deeper. Fuck me. Fuck me harder!" ___

__Fantasy Anders whimpered, thrusting back against him, and Hawke couldn't tease either of them any longer. He would grab Anders by the hips and take him deep and hard and fast. He would make him scream his name so the entire keep could hear him. Everyone would know that Anders was his, that he was claiming him. And when Anders came, he could call his name…_ _

__"Anders," Hawke hissed, the name leaving his lips as he spilled over his hand._ _

__He lay there a moment, sweating in the oppressive heat of the room, shivering when another tendril of cool wind played over his naked skin. He brought his hand, covered in his semen, to his lips and tasted himself. It wasn't the first time, though he'd been initially turned off by it. It was salty, warm but quickly cooling. And he wondered what Anders would taste like. A wild, still-horny part of his brain said, "strawberries," but he knew that wasn't right. With a quiet laugh, he reached down to the floor, found a sock that might have been his but possibly Oghren's, and wiped himself clean. It took some effort to straighten his pants out and tug them on, and he pulled the thin sheet up to his waist before rolling to his side._ _

__He wondered if he would get a few minutes alone with Anders when they returned to the Vigil. With that hope in mind, he fell asleep slowly._ _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor warning in this chapter for a mild sub drop.

Hawke found his chance the next week when Anders came to his room with a package and a letter from Bethany. He waved Anders in excitedly, gesturing for him to lock the door, which Anders did, a cocky smirk on his face. Hawke took the package, pleased when Anders settled next to him, leaning heavily against his shoulder.

"So? What is it?"

Hawke tore open the letter first. "They got the house! My mother's old manor where she grew up. And… they're fine. Carver caught the flu but he's doing well. Filet is fine, but misses me-"

"Filet?" Anders asked, raising an eyebrow.

"My dog. Stop laughing!"

Anders grinned. "Oh. I guess I shouldn't laugh. I had a cat named Ser Pounce-a-lot after all."

"I think that's a brilliant name," Hawke said, even though he did find it a bit silly. It suited someone like Anders. "What happened to him?"

The smile slipped from Anders' face. "Never mind. What else does your sister say? What's in the box?"

Hawke slid the package to him. "Go on and open it." He grinned at the way Anders' face lit up as he tore into the wrapping. "She says that our friends are well. Aveline's secured the positon of guard captain – I helped! And that the Qunari are still a problem. Well, no surprise there. Otherwise she sounds good. She sends her love."

"And cookies," Anders said, helping himself to one from the tin. "Mm. Delicious. Here," he held one to Hawke's lips.

Hawke bit into it. "Mm. Honey butter." He licked the crumbs from the corner of his mouth and took the second half of the cookie in one bite, tongue flickering over Anders' fingers, smirking at the flicker of desire it elicited. He dropped the letter and seized Anders' hand, tongue flicking over the pad of his thumb. "Mm."

Anders let out a shuddering breath. "Is this why you wanted me to lock the door?" he asked, his voice suddenly quiet and heavy with lust.

"Mmhm," Hawke agreed, nipping now at his thumb. "Well?"

Anders closed the cookie tin and set the package down in a rush, kissing him roughly. Hawke let the letter flutter to the floor with a silent apology to his sister, and allowed Anders to push him to the bed. Anticipation of what was to come shot straight to his groin, and he opened his mouth to Anders' insistent tongue. A bit of a fidgeting and they found a comfortable position, Anders straddling him, still kissing him. Hawke groaned when Anders pressed down with his hips, and there were too many clothes between the two of them.

"You like top?" Anders asked, sitting up so he could remove his shirt, hurriedly undoing the clasps and ties.

Hawke did the same, grabbing the neck of his own shirt and yanking it up over his head. "I never…"

"What?" Anders asked, eyebrow raised. "Virgin?"

Hawke blushed. "Only with guys. I'm not, y'know. Fully."

Anders smirked. "Then you're in for a treat."

The next few minutes was a flurry of undressing, awkwardly kicking off their boots and trousers, and Anders knelt over him, thumbs in the waistband of his smalls, which were doing very little to conceal his cock, half-hard and waiting to be touched.

"Why'd you stop?" Hawke breathed. "Fuck, Anders… I want-" He reached up, growling when Anders moved out of reach.

"You want?" Anders grinned. "Tell me how much. Because Maker, I've wanted to taste your cock since I first saw you."

Hawke sat up suddenly, displacing Anders, and grabbed him by the hips. He yanked down his smallclothes, pulling them painfully to his thighs before shoving him back to the mattress. Anders laughed.

"Sweet Andraste, Hawke. Are you that hard up for a lay?"

"Don't just want a lay," Hawke muttered, leaning down to kiss his chest. He was right, Anders was pale and freckled, skin peppered lightly with hair. He placed little kisses down his chest, dragging his tongue along plane of his stomach. "Want you."

"Oh, well, I am pretty awesome," Ander conceded.

"Just you," Hawke breathed, looking up at him intensely, as he knelt between his legs. 

Anders' cock was fully hard now, and Hawke brushed his beard against it. He heard Anders whimper.

"Well," Anders breathed, one hand grabbing the sheets, the other in Hawke's hair. "You've got me, right?"

"I like you, Anders," Hawke said, licking up his cock. _Uncut_ he thought, smirking. "A lot."

"I would bloody well hope so, if you're about to suck me off," Anders laughed, wriggling, shoving at his smalls. "Take these off. Too restricting."

"I seem to remember saying something about how you wouldn't mind…"

"Later, for another time," Anders said quickly. "Just would like to get fucked now, please."

Hawke pulled his smalls down the rest of the way, tossing them to the floor. He leaned up to look him over again, fingertips dragging down his sides. "All right. How?"

Anders looked around. "Oil?"

Hawke left him briefly to search through the dresser and came up with some ointment for burns. He tossed it to Anders, who nodded to his groin.

"Take those things off so I can see you. Oh," Anders breathed, and leaned up on his elbows. "Fuck, Hawke… you're…"

Hawke shoved his smalls to the floor and stepped out, erection bobbing against his stomach. "What?"

"Huge."

Hawke laughed, a little self-conscious. "Yeah?" he asked, taking himself in hand, stroking, remembering how he masturbated to a fantasy that he was about to make come true.

"Bigger than I've had. Bigger than Nate. Don't tell him and for Andraste's sake get over here so I can suck it."

Hawke didn't argue, settling back into bed. Anders knelt between his legs, tucked his hair behind his ears, and licked. His toes curled at the sensation. Not that he'd never gotten his cock sucked before, but as Anders started in, it was the hottest, most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen. And Anders was fucking talented, instinctively knowing what he liked, pulling back the foreskin to tongue the slit before sucking on it. He glanced up, winked, and took a breath. In one move that Hawke would never have been able to master, Anders took in his entire length, not even gagging despite his earlier admiration of his size. Hawke tried not to buck his hips, and he sank his fingers into Ander's hair.

Anders didn't seem to care about the tugging on his hair, the push and pull as Hawke guided him, letting him speed up or slow down. He jerked up once, and Anders gagged before pushing him back down, and sat, wiping his mouth.

"Sorry!" Hawke managed. "Sorry, could you just… keep going?"

Anders smirked. "I didn't stop because I was angry, you idiot." He took the oil and unscrewed the lid. "Give me your hand. You want to top, right?"

"I…"

"Best you do if you're first time. Here." Anders took his hand and poured the oil onto his fingertips. He turned around, straddling his thighs and leaned forward, giving Hawke a gorgeous view of his ass. "I'll tell you if you're doing it wrong."

Propping himself up, Hawke gripped his backside, massaging, keeping his oiled fingers away for the moment. Pale skin turned red when he squeezed, then faded, and Anders made a needy noise. Carefully, never having done this before even with a woman, he slid one finger down his cleft, making Anders shiver, and found his hole.

"Hurry before I change my mind," Anders teased.

Hawke scowled. "Don't want to hurt you."

"Just… bloody do it!"

Hawke did, wincing at the muffled cry as Anders buried his face into the blanket between Hawke's legs. They stopped talking, Hawke unwilling to hurt him, Anders keening as he fucked himself on Hawke's finger. Hawke sat up a little straighter and added another finger, his free hand keeping Anders' cheeks parted, cock throbbing in anticipation. He was sure he would have masturbatory fantasy fuel for months now, the way Anders rocked back and forth, gasping with each thrust.

"Good, good," Anders said. "Just do it. If it hurts I'll heal it. Go now. Please." He was almost begging, and Hawke couldn't say no.

He moved to his knees, Anders keeping his shoulders down, and used a bit more oil on his own cock. It was warm and tingly on his neglected flesh, and he carefully lined himself up.

"Slow!" Anders warned, as he felt the head of Hawke's cock at his entrance.

"Don't wanna hurt-"

"Shut up and do it!"

It wasn't exactly the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to him, but Hawke obeyed, pressing forward. "Oh… oh Maker, Anders. Shit…"

Anders said something in language Hawke couldn't understand, and pushed back. Hawke felt the tight heat around himself, a burst of healing magic that made his stomach flutter pleasantly, a warm sensation spreading throughout his nerves. His fingers dug into Anders' hips and in one last swift motion he was buried inside him. Anders waved a hand back at him, and Hawke grabbed it. Anders squeezed, then let go.

"Go," he ordered. "Fast as you like. Faster even. Maker, I need it. Fuck me."

Hawke wasn't sure why Anders was so desperate, but he couldn't argue, not now, not like this. He resumed his hold on Anders' hips and started to thrust. Nothing, not even the teenage fumblings outside Lothering, not even Isabela – a self-proclaimed sex goddess – could prepare him for how damn good this felt. He tried to listen to Anders, to focus on the noises he was making, but he could only concentrate on the tight sheath gripping his cock with each movement. He was sure his hips would bruise, fingernails making crescent-shaped marks in Anders' skin.

"Faster. More. Hawke!"

Anders gripped the blankets, clutching them to his chest, head barely raised. He canted his hips back with each thrust and Hawke went faster. Close, so close now, he knew it was coming. Just a little further.

"Anders," he breathed. "Oh fuck, you're so fucking gorgeous…"

He threw his head back and let out a cry, something primal, guttural, escaping his lips. He came hard, pulling out, _marking_ Anders with strings of ropy semen. A flittering thought went through his mind in the immediate post-orgasmic bliss. _I want to come on his face._

Anders shifted, a hand reaching up toward his own cock. Hawke growled and shoved it away, taking it himself. His hand, slightly oily still, sweating, provided more than enough lubrication. Leaning over him, he stroked him quickly, mouth against his ear as he whispered to him.

"Fucking like that?" he hissed, unsure where this need to dominate came from. Normally he would think this type of talk stupid, even if he had indulged one or two in the past. "Little fucking slut covered in my come, you fucking like it?" His free hand made its way into Anders' hair and he pulled back, pleased when Anders cried out.

"Yes! Maker, fucking yes, I love your cock! Damn it, let me come!"

He let Anders fuck his fist, and it didn't take long, close as he was. Hawke felt the warm, sticky seed over his hand, and impulsively, he reached up, smearing it over Anders' mouth and cheek. Other hands still gripping his hair, he forced Anders not to move, and was pleased to feel his tongue darting out, licking away his own come.

"That's so fucking hot," he breathed, watching him. "You like licking your come off my fingers? Dirty fucking slut." He leaned down and bit Anders on the shoulder, feeling only slightly bad when he cried out in pain, pleased to see the mark he left.

Then, as if he suddenly realized what he was doing, Hawke let him go. Anders whimpered, still sucking as his fingers, and Hawke pulled away.

"I…"

Anders, wincing, rolled to the side. He was bruised, sweaty, and panting, a smear of come on his cheek. But his skin was flushed, hair sticking to his forehead as he caught his breath, eyes wide.

"Sorry," Hawke said, looking down at the mess, at his own hand.

"Are you serious?" Anders asked. "I… Maker, Hawke. Fuck…"

Hawke started to panic slightly when Anders' eyes filled with tears. Wiping his hand off on the sheet, he pulled him up, close, into his lap. The sheets were already done for, so he used them to clean Anders off, trying to be careful not to hurt him further.

"Did I hurt… fuck, Anders, I'm sorry. I don't-"

"Shut up a second," Anders breathed, head against his shoulder. "Just… hold me, all right?"

Hawke wrapped his arms tightly around him, kissing his forehead, apologizing quietly, almost inaudible, against his hair. Anders curled up in his lap, one hand against his chest, the other around him, touching the small of his back. They sat for a few minutes, quietly listening to one another breathe, until Hawke had to uncurl, stretching out, and laid down, taking Anders with him.

"I'm sorry," he said again quietly. "I don't know why…"

"I liked it," Anders said. "Maker, I liked it a _lot_ , Hawke. It was…" He wriggled a bit. "Mm. Damned good."

Hawke was confused. If he liked it, then why… "I don't understand. You…"

"Just overwhelmed. Not used to it being like that. Not… not with someone I really trust, I guess."

Hawke wasn't sure what that meant. Had someone taken advantage of him? He decided now wasn't the time to ask about sordid details. "You trust me?" was what he asked instead.

"Please, I don't just let anyone fuck my ass. Nathaniel? I was on top. I like Nate," he added, looking up at him. "He's just a little too… upper class for me. But you… you get it. You know what it's like. You understand me. I… really haven't had that since the Circle. Since Karl. And… wow. I'm a shit lover if I'm comparing you to my past ones, aren't I?"

Hawke laughed. "No. It's flattering. Considering I had no idea what the hell was I doing."

Anders leaned up on an elbow, one hand splayed against Hawke's chest. "If that's you when you don't know what you're doing, Maker, I can't wait until you get some experience!"

"So… we can do it again? Rough like that?" Hawke asked. "That was… never did that before." It almost scared him how much he liked it.

Anders ran a hand through his sweaty hair and sighed. "Yes. But… maybe not all the time and maybe with some warning beforehand. And a word."

"Word?"

"You know. I say it and you stop."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Why not just, 'stop'?"

"Because I might say stop but not mean it," Anders said, sliding over top of him, kissing him. "We'll think of something later. Kinky bedroom play. Mm. I found myself a fun one." He kissed him again.

Hawke let it end, and looked at him pensively. "Is it just fun?"

"Sure. Didn't you have fun?"

"No," Hawke said. "I mean, did you want more than fun?" He ran his hands carefully up Anders' arms, pulling him down again for another kiss. 

"I… Hawke, it's not ideal, you know? Bringing feelings into things."

Hawke stared at him, looked into the soft amber eyes, and saw the flash of pain. His chest ached. Of course this couldn't be more than just a passing dalliance. A bit of fun while it lasted, until one or both of them was stationed elsewhere. "But… Grey Wardens… there's no rule against it, is there? Taking a lover."

Anders sighed and lay back down against him. His fingers played idly with Hawke's chest hair as he thought. "No, I don't think so. It's just… I'm not… good for you. For anyone."

"Shouldn't I get to make that choice for myself?" Hawke asked, hurt.

"Let's just see where it takes us, all right?" Anders said, a note of finality in his tone. "Bath in the morning? I'm too tired to move now."

"Sure," Hawke said. He hesitated, but kissed his forehead, smiling when Anders snuggled closer, laying half atop him.

"Big bear," Anders muttered, rubbing his cheek against his chest hair.

Hawke laughed, confused. One minute, Anders was cold, scared of what might be, and the next, he was warm and cuddly. Too tired to dwell on it now, he decided they could sort it out later. He only hoped, as he fell asleep, that Anders would decide that he wanted something more than just casual sex.


	7. Chapter 7

They were the subject of some gossip at Vigil's Keep. Varel finally gave in and reassigned their bunks, giving them a small room on the opposite side of the Vigil, nice and private. It was a good thing, too, as Anders tended to be very loud in bed once Hawke learned what he liked. Their lovemaking was sweet and passionate, but also sometimes brutal. After coming back from a long assignment with Rolan, Anders fled to Hawke's arms and Hawke quickly realized what he needed during that time. They procured silken rope in Amaranthine and quite a few little toys. Hawke discovered how much pain Anders could take, and further learned how to distribute it so that they both received the most pleasure out of it. But it was the dirty talk that they both seemed to get off on the most. When Hawke asked Anders about it, he remained closed off, and it took some time for him to open up.

They were enjoying a rare hot bath together, Anders lying against Hawke's broad chest. Hawke rested his head back against the rim, one arm out of the bath, the other idly playing with Anders' hair. Anders stretched, then brought his knees up, rubbing his backside teasingly over Hawke's cock. Neither were in the mood for much more, having had a long, rough day of patrol. Killing bandits and highwaymen was still taxing, even with the use of magic, and Hawke took a hard hit that Anders had to heal on the road. And, of course, Rolan had been with them.

"We should leave," Hawke said casually.

Anders snorted. "If I could."

"No, really. We can, can't we? Is there a law? You defect from the Grey Wardens, they come to arrest you? Drag you back?"

"If they could find you," Anders said. He took the washcloth and dragged it over his face and chest. "It's not like the Circle where they take your blood."

Hawke took the cloth from him and ran it slowly down his arm to his stomach. "So the Chantry decries blood magic and then uses it to keep track of the mages? Sounds about right for the hypocrisy."

Anders sighed, turning a little to look up at him. "Where would we go?"

"Kirkwall," Hawke answered. "My sister would look after us. After all, that estate is a third mine. And we could ask about Karl." He never knew how Anders would react to the mention of his former lover.

Silence for a moment, then Anders nodded. "Maybe, I suppose."

It wasn't a no. "Would you let me take care of you?"

"Take care of me?" Anders asked, laughing. He pressed a cheek to Hawke's and nuzzled his beard. "Like I'm a little lost kitten?"

"More like a broken down mountain lion," Hawke replied, before he could stop himself.

Anders fell silent again, relaxing against him. Hawke frowned at his own stupidity. Of course Anders wouldn't want to talk about his deeper issues. He was an idiot for even suggesting it. But before he could apologize, Anders took his hand, kissed his knuckles, and started to speak.

"In the Circle, you never fell in love. It was just… not something you did. Giving the templars more leverage? To keep someone else safe, sacrificing yourself, taking their punishment. Beatings or… or worse. Like solitary confinement," he whispered.

Hawke realized Anders was clinging to his hand. He brought his free one around and held him tightly, like he often did after a particularly heavy session of lovemaking. His being there, curled around him, often was more than enough to calm Anders down.

"I took lashes. You've seen the scars. The pain is nothing. But I've had friends who… the templars just take what they want. You're helpless to do anything, and if they know you'll sacrifice yourself for a friend or a lover, it makes it better for them. Sadistic bastards," he finished.

Hawke pressed a kiss to his temple, then gently nuzzled his cheek. "If you don't want to talk about it…"

"No, I think you should know. Maybe you might… it helps to talk. To you," Anders added, glancing back up. "No one else would ever listen. In the Circle you're just preaching to the choir. Karl and I used to talk about it all the time. And I was just… so angry. I still am. Outside of the Circle? No one wants to hear how bad it was there. Rounding up the mages keeps everyone safe, after all. It's disgusting. And here in the Grey Wardens, I thought that maybe someone would…" He shook his head. "It's gotten harder since the Warden-Commander left. And as much respect as bringing down an Archdemon gets you, he still won't have all the rights of any non-mage. There's talk of removing the arling from his administration."

"But… didn't the king grant him that?" Hawke asked.

"Yes. They'll say it's a Grey Warden thing. That we shouldn't hold lands. But do you think that would've been the same if… if he wasn't a mage? They wouldn't care. They'd say it's a fine idea. I feel…" He took a breath, searching for the words. "I feel safe with you, Hawke. And it scares me." Anders entwined their fingers, eyes on the steam that rose from the surface of the water. "It's why I like what you do to me."

"Tying you down and all?"

"All of it," Anders admitted. "Because I know if I use that word, it all ends. You're in control but you're really not. I just have to say one thing and everything stops. Then you'll… take care of me," he admitted.

Hawke hugged him tightly. "Yes."

"So you see why I like it. It's liberating in a way, to be able to take control. It probably sounds stupid, I guess."

"No. No it doesn't." It made perfect sense to Hawke. With so much being out of their hands, to take one thing and make it his, to give him complete authority to say yes or no, must have been the only comfort Anders had in a long time. And Hawke would be lying if he said he didn't need it as well. "Anders… Maker, this is going to sound bloody saccharine. I…"

"Don't say it," Anders pleaded.

"You don't have to say it back."

The water stilled, the only sound a quiet dripping, and their breathing. Then Anders nodded.

"I joined the Wardens to save my life," Hawke said. "I didn't have much of a choice but I guess that's normal for the Wardens. I didn't expect to meet anyone like you. I didn't expect to want to… have a life with you. Somewhere outside the Wardens. In a house. Maybe on a farm together or something."

"A farm? With cows and chickens?"

Hawke laughed. "You can take the farmboy off the farm, et cetera."

"I guess that explains the muscles," Anders teased, squeezing his arm.

"I think I fell in love with you."

More silence. Anders shifted, turning in the bath, kneeling between his legs. He cupped his cheeks, thumbs brushing his beard. "Then you are truly dumber than you look." But he smiled, and there were tears in his eyes.

Hawke pulled him down for a kiss, and silently promised that he would get them both out of there. He would keep Anders safe. And while they might never start a farm together, he would show Anders that there was nothing to be scared of when it came to falling in love.


	8. Chapter 8

There was a Chanter's Board request, a bid for help in the Free Marches that he signed himself and Anders up for at once. Of course it was no surprise that Rolan's name was added to the roster mere hours after that. It was a complication, but one that Hawke could find his way around. He wrote to Bethany to let her know that he would be in the area soon, but left out the detail where he would be defecting from the Wardens and taking Anders with him. He packed carefully, knowing he wouldn't need much, and took the bag of keepsakes that Anders kept hidden under their bed. By the end of the week they would be on a boat across the Waking Sea, and in another week following, they would both be free. His heart thudded wildly in his chest at the thought, the excitement.

"Hawke!" Oghren's loud cry from the hall.

The fact that Oghren was yelling wasn't unusual. He often did, especially when drunk, and he was normally drunk. But there was something else. Panic? Oghren didn't panic. He ran headfirst at darkspawn and armed men alike. Hawke stepped into the hall, Oghren jogging up.

"It's the kid. Anders. He's in the infirmary. He got hurt on patrol."

It was all Hawke heard before he ran down the hall and across the keep, dodging servants and ignoring Varel's worried calling after him. He flung the door of the infirmary wide and stopped on the threshold, taking in the sight. The infirmary was rarely used, Anders being an excellent healer and only too happy to patch them all up on the road or immediately upon arrival back at the Vigil. He lay unconscious now on a cot, uniform torn and blackened, one leg bent at an angle that surely meant it was broken in more than one place. It looked like he'd been punched repeatedly in the face, one eye black and swollen, lips bloodied. His uniform at the chest was slashed open. A bear? Something worse? 

_Or a sword._

The last thought registered as he saw Rolan and two other Wardens in the room as well.

"You. You did this to him!"

"I did no such-"

But Hawke flung himself at Rolan, the other Wardens grabbing him, pulling him back. Hawke raised a handful of flame.

"What in the Maker's name is going on?"

They turned to see a man standing in the doorway. He was shorter than average, his dark brown hair tied back from his square-jawed face, a day's worth of stubble making him appear older than he likely was. Under his travel-worn cloak, he wore the uniform of the Warden-Commander. Hawke let his magic fade, scowling. So _this_ was the man he was supposed to be reporting to? He felt like he could squash him like a bug. But it was residual anger, his fear at having nearly lost Anders. He shoved past Rolan now, going to Anders' side and knelt, looking over the wounds.

"Commander," Rolan said, stepping forward, hand out. "We haven't met yet, but Seneschal Varel speaks highly of you. My name is Ser Rolan-"

The commander ignored his hand and strode past, looking down. "Maker's breath, what happened to Anders? Where's Woolsey? You, Rolan? Go get Woolsey and Varel. Then go to my office. I'll speak with you later."

Rolan looked like he wanted to argue, but didn't disobey. Despite the commander being a mage, he was still in charge. He left with the other two Wardens.

"What's your name?" the commander asked, looking at Hawke.

"…Garrett Hawke." Then he added, "Sir."

"Daylen Amell. And you can leave the 'sir' off, thanks very much. Save the bloody world and everyone wants to kiss your arse. Do you know what happened?" he asked, and his palms filled with a light blue glow, and he passed them gingerly over Anders. "He'll live, at least."

Hawke felt the power radiating off him at once. Then a thought struck him. This was the Hero of Ferelden. This was the man who saved his homeland from the Blight. Best friend to the king, and Warden-Commander, and Arl of Amaranthine. He was a Big Deal in capital letters. And his last name was Amell.

"You're related to my mother," was what came out next.

Amell looked at him, eyebrow raised. "Come again?"

"Amell, my mother's maiden name – are you from Kirkwall?"

"No. Sort of," he amended. "Born there, but they put me in the Fereldan Circle to keep me away from my family. I have a brother in that Circle though, and a sister in Markham's. Not that I know a damn thing beyond that about either of them. Or the rest of my family, it seems. So… cousin?"

It was surreal. Hawke had never heard the man's name. He'd only ever been, 'The Warden' or 'The Hero of Ferelden'. "Cousin," he repeated. "We have family. Others. I have a brother and a sister too. They're in Kirkwall. What about Anders?" he asked, gesturing.

"Oh no, he's not family," Amell said with a straight face, then smirked at his own joke. "Good thing for you, I guess."

Hawke winced. "Then Varel told you that we were-"

"It's fine. Means Anders will stop hitting on me." He smiled, and Hawke relaxed.

Anders shifted and groaned. "Maker, I feel like I've be trampled by an ogre. What did Oghren make me drink?"

"We were hoping you could tell us what happened," Amell said, standing up.

Hawke took Anders by the hand. "Can you heal yourself?"

"Wait, one thing at a time," Anders managed, breathing heavily through the pain. He closed the eye that wasn't already swollen shut and concentrated, pouring his mana and healing magic through his body.

Hawke watched, intrigued and impressed with his skill. He felt Anders' grip tighten as the bone in his leg set, and his chest hurt a little when Anders cried out in pain. Amell fished through his robes and came up with an elfroot potion, helping Anders to sit up so he could drink it.

"Mm. Commander. Always good to see you. About bloody time you came back," Anders said, finishing the potion. He handed him the empty vial, then pressed both hands over his face, healing his wounded eye.

"It's not my fault they put Weisshaupt all the way at the top of Thedas," Amell rationalized. "Anyway… 'Ser Rolan'?"

Anders made a face. "Templar."

Amell sucked in a breath. "All right. I'll write a few letters. See what I can do. Did he do this?" He waved at Anders' recently healed body.

Anders fell silent. Hawke sat next to him on the thin cot, sliding an arm around his waist.

"Anders," Amell said. "I've known you too long for you to start lying to me now. You're not going to get reprimanded if he hurt you."

"Bastard let the line break," Anders said finally, drawing his knees to his chest. He wrapped his arms around them and leaned against Hawke. "Three mercenaries. Hired to kidnap so-and-so's daughter. Should've been an easy stake out and subdue, rescue the girl, especially the group we had. Two with sword and board, an archer, and myself? The line broke, but Rolan wasn't down. He _let_ it fall. And of course they came for me first. They're not stupid. Take out the healer. Of course, not a scratch on the others."

"I'll talk to Rolan-"

"It won't do any good," Anders sighed, looking up at him. "You might be Warden-Commander, but you're still a mage. A templar will never respect you, even though you deserve it. And we go abroad soon on a mission with him."

"I can see about getting that changed," Amell said.

"I want to go," Hawke said quickly. It wouldn't be their only opportunity to escape, but the Wardens would pay for their passage to the Free Marches, and he could disappear more easily there than he could in Ferelden. He was going to save Anders from this, he swore it. "I might be able to see my family." It was a cheap shot, using family that way after the conversation he'd just had with the commander, but it worked.

"Fine," Amell conceded, "but I want a report. Especially if Rolan pulls a stunt like this again. Will you be all right?" he asked, head slightly tilted, looking at Anders.

"I'll be fine," Anders assured hm.

Amell gave him a dubious look, but clapped him gently on the shoulder. "Garrett-"

"Hawke's fine."

"Hawke, then. You and Anders are off patrol for the next three days. Rest and recover. Rolan will pull double duties. Least I can do. Good to meet you. Cousin." Before either of them could answer, Amell left.

"Cousin?" Anders asked, looking at Hawke in surprise.

"Through my mother's side. Small world, I guess," Hawke replied. Maybe he could ask his mother exactly how they were related. It seemed a cruel twist of fate that he would meet a lost family member so soon before he planned to leave. But he thought he might write. Would his cousin hunt him down and drag him back? It was hard to say. He couldn't judge the man completely, only having just met him. "But hey, no patrols."

Anders rested his head against his shoulder. "You could've let him take us off the Free Marches assignment. But… I understand wanting to see your family again."

"Mmhm," Hawke said, wondering if he should tell Anders what he really had planned. But in the end, he decided against it. A selfish part of him didn't want to give Anders the opportunity to say no.

"Well," Anders sighed, "whatever will we do with our few days off?"

Hawke looked down at the cheeky grin and growled, kissing him back to the cot. "I could think of a few things."

"Oh," Anders purred, "I can't wait to hear this."


	9. Chapter 9

It was good to be back in the Free Marches, though Hawke had only really ever seen the area surrounding Kirkwall. He recognized the coastline well enough, and thought he could manage an escape route one night during camp. Maybe on watch. But Rolan seemed to think something was up, and decided that three watches a night were necessary, and he always took the second one. Hawke wondered further if he even did sleep, or just lay in wait for them to make a move. On one night, when Hawke got up to take a leak, Rolan was there a few feet away, watching, until Hawke asked him if he wanted to hold it for him. It was frustrating to be so close and yet so far. He knew that if it came down to it, he and Anders could easily subdue Rolan and take off, but as much as he hated the man, Hawke wanted to avoid any unnecessary violence.

They were tracking a group of slavers. The job, at least, was legitimate. Hawke asked around Amaranthine before they left. It turned out that smugglers were working hand in hand with a group out of Tevinter to ferry poor men and refugees from Ferelden looking for work through the Free Marches. They would then be forced into working the ships, or left to slavers to be sold later in Tevinter. Normally not a Grey Warden task, Amaranthine was a hotbed for the activity, and it fell to them to put a stop to it. Ideally, they could track the slavers to a cave on the Wounded Coast, _then_ find a way to defect. After all, Hawke thought he could stand to do one last good deed as a Warden.

The coast was rocky, the sky overcast and dark grey. In the distance across the sea, Hawke heard the crack of thunder, and knew it would only be a matter of time before they were soaked to the skin. But Rolan pressed on, leading them down the shore, wanting to stay on the trail that was nearly lost. Hawke looked to Anders who had his hood pulled up, staff and pack on his back. In Hawke's bag, he'd brought the irreplaceable items. An amulet from Bethany and a hand-embroidered pillow that Anders clung to. His father's staff in his hand. He gave a spare thought for the things he left behind, all material possessions. He could buy new ones.

"Trail goes this way," Rolan said, gesturing up into a cave.

"Well then lead the way, oh brave and intrepid Warden," Anders said. He seemed to enjoy niggling Rolan, reminding him as many ways as he could that Rolan was a Warden now, and not a templar.

With a scowl, Rolan did. The cave inside was dark, but torches were lit, which likely meant they were going to find opposition. Hawke only hoped it was the slavers they were looking for and not a group of bandits. Or worse. As Rolan forged ahead, Hawke gripped Anders' wrist discreetly. He needed to tell him.

"What?" Anders whispered.

"Once we take care of these slavers," Hawke muttered, trying to keep his voice from carrying forward, "we run."

Anders' eyes widened in the dim light. "What?"

"We have to. It's our only chance. I brought your things," Hawke added. "Things I know you couldn't part with. We make a break for Kirkwall."

"Hawke, I-"

"Good evening, Ser Rolan."

Hawke's head snapped up. He'd been so focused on trying to convince Anders to come with him that he hadn't noticed Rolan leading them into a trap. Three templars in full plate stood in front of them, and three more closed ranks behind. Though he saw the hand motion, it didn't prepare him for the nausea that followed, the disconnection from his magic, and he fell to his knees. Anders wavered, but managed to keep his feet.

The lead templar was bald, a grey goatee and cool blue eyes giving him the look of a five copper novel villain who would laugh evilly as he divulged his master plan. He stepped forward, tossing a coin purse at Rolan. "Two apostates?"

"Yes, Ser Alrik," Rolan said, pocketing the gold.

"We're not apostates!" Anders said, gripping his staff. Though for all the good it could do him now, it might have just been a stick.

"Joining the Wardens doesn't grant you a pardon," Alrik said in an even, oily voice.

"You fucking bastard," Hawke growled, getting slowly to his feet, Anders helping him. "You sold us out? Your fellow Wardens! Just wait until the commander-"

"He won't hear about it," Rolan said. "Tragically, both of you were killed by the slavers while I made a narrow escape. There were more than we could handle."

Hawke glared, but noticed a flicker behind him. A shadow of movement. Were there slavers in this cave? Bandits? Or worse, giant spiders. Leave it to the templars to not even clear out their ambush site before setting it up.

"I swear to the Maker, Rolan, I will-" Anders said, stepping forward.

Two templars drew their swords, and Hawke pulled him back, out of harm's way. "Fine," he said. "We'll submit. Take us to the Gallows." If they were thrown in the Circle here, he was fairly sure he could escape. Maybe that one templar… what was his name? Thrask? Would be willing to get word to Bethany for him.

"Oh I don't think that's entirely necessary," Alrik said in the same cool tone. "A wanted apostate who escaped Fereldan's Circle multiple times, and a wild apostate who's never been taught proper Chantry-sanctioned magic? Dangerous enough to merit the brand."

Hawke felt Anders stiffen next to him, heard his sudden labored breathing. It was the one thing that Anders truly feared. Not the lashings or the beatings, not the threat of bodily harm, he could handle that. But Tranquility? It was terrifying. Alrik waved to a templar who held up the sunburst branding iron, cold for now, but he brought it to the torchlight, smirking.

"Seize them."

But before anyone could move, the lights extinguished. Pitch black and unable to see, Hawke grabbed Anders by the wrist and held tight, dragging him to the ground. Magic lit up the cave in a strobe effect. The sounds of metal clanging against metal echoed off the stone walls. Hawke peered up through fighting, trying to get his bearings, intent on pulling Anders toward the cave entrance so they could make a run for it. They crawled only a few feet when the fighting stopped, and the torches came back to light.

"Leaving the party already, sweetcheeks?"

Hawke knew that voice. He turned, shocked to see Isabela standing behind him, one hand on her hip, the other holding a blade that was covered in blood. She grinned and winked.

"Isabela! But how-"

"Garrett!"

Before he could figure out what was going on, his arms were full of his baby sister, hugging him so tightly he wasn't sure he could breathe. But relief filled him, and he hugged back, realizing that the slavers or bandits or giant spiders he thought might be in the cave were actually his siblings, Isabela, and a surly looking Fenris. Isabela laughed and left them to it, poking through the bodies of the now slain templars. Hawke gave a thought for Rolan, whose body lay a few feet away, his head removed from his shoulders.

"Bethy, how?" was all he could manage. He grabbed Anders' hand. "Anders, my sister, Bethany."

Bethany grinned. Her hair was longer now, tied back from her face in a single braid down her back, but she was still the happy-go-lucky woman he remembered. "We can have this conversation away from the corpses, I think. Back to Kirkwall?" she asked, glancing to the other three.

"Carver," Hawke managed, letting Bethany pull him to his feet. He helped Anders up, brushing him off, and noticed that Anders remained quiet and uncharacteristically shy.

"Brother," Carver said. "…Glad you're in one piece."

"And you." It was the most he could hope for, he supposed. Carver wasn't the type of person to fling himself at family like Bethany had. At most he was just happy Carver's first words to him in all this time were even remotely pleasant.

Isabela stuffed a bag full of the spoils, tossing it to Fenris who caught it one-handed.

"Fenris," Hawke said, nodding at him.

"Hawke," Fenris returned, eyeing Anders warily.

"Everyone, this is Anders," Hawke said. "I… I wrote you about him," he said to Bethany, who ushered the group out of the cave.

"Mmhm. And we figured once we heard about the slaver ring that would be the assignment that brought you here," she said, hooking her arm into Hawke's, fairly skipping. "I almost didn't make it. Carver said I needed to recover."

"Recover?" Hawke asked, looking her over. In the torchlight he noticed she had a scar along her cheek. He reached up to touch it. "What happened?"

"Bethany killed the Qunari Arishok," Isabela said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Did me a favor. Good woman, your sister."

Hawke's eyes narrowed a bit.

"Oh come off it," Isabela said, as they moved out of the cave. "I didn't touch her. Though it would've been nice to say I bagged all three of the Hawke siblings."

Hawke looked back at Carver, whose blush told him everything he needed to know. "You…"

"It is a _long_ story," Bethany said. "And I'll tell it to you once we get home. It's about to pour, come on. Mother will be so happy to see you."

"So, who's your friend?" Isabela asked, then laughed. "No way! I know you. Ferelden, right? Denerim?"

"The Pearl?" Anders ventured. "I thought you looked familiar."

Hawke scowled. "Great. Now that we've determined that Isabela slept with everyone here-"

"Except Bethany," Isabela pointed out.

"And Fenris," Hawke sighed.

"Er, well…" Fenris huffed.

Hawke shook his head, looking at Anders apologetically. "My friends," he said weakly.

"Better than mine," Anders shrugged.

Bethany linked her other arm around Anders'. "So. You're my brother's lover?"

Hawke blushed. It wasn't exactly the way he would've broken the news to everyone. Anxiously he waited for Anders' answer, looking at him.

"I… yes, I am," Anders said, catching his eye. He smiled almost shyly.

Hawke sighed in relief. And as they hurried on to avoid the oncoming storm, swapping stories, Hawke knew that Anders would fit right in with their group. It would be okay. He had his friends and his family.

And most importantly, he had Anders.


End file.
